


a place i can go to

by Ester



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ester/pseuds/Ester
Summary: “Just making sure,” Jeonghan said and carded his slim fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, sweeping it back, “If you ever decide to quit, I’ll be there. We’ll trash the office, fuck on your desk, burn some bridges.”// now, a modern, non-famous au drabble series.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 80
Kudos: 250





	1. the one where they larp abt being fishermen on jeju

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you're alive during a global pandemic and you cope with it by blasting seventeen's home on loop only yoon jeonghan can judge me

It was late. The lashing, freezing November rain nearly soaked Seungcheol in the four seconds it took for him to fold his umbrella and duck into the backseat of the car he’d ordered to take him home. As the driver navigated the busy streets, Seungcheol leaned back and closed his eyes for what felt like the first time all day.

Word documents flashed behind his lids; he could still hear the chime alert of an incoming phantom email. The workload had seemed never-ending that day. The people had felt more obstinate and idiotic than yesterday. There was so much he hadn’t finished, even though he’d stayed hours extra. He forced his eyes open and thumbed awake his personal phone for the first time since his fifteen-minute lunch break seven hours ago.

A text from Jihoon, an Instagram picture from Chan, a near-incomprehensibly giggly audio message from Soonyoung. He shot back quick, too-late replies, before opening a notification from Jeonghan with something like dread. Seungcheol had told him he’d be home in time for dinner that morning, between hurried sips of coffee drunk standing up, because he’d gotten behind schedule, unable to draw away from a warm, sleepy Jeonghan in the faint dawn light that had spilled over their shared bed.

_Dinner was tasty and lonely._

_Eat something, too._

_18:55_

_I’ll be home in 20. Sorry._

_21:43_

His message registered “Read” immediately. Seungcheol didn’t know whether he felt pleased that Jeonghan was waiting for him or guilty that he’d made him do so.

_Oh, he lives!_

_There might be some leftovers to scrape together._

_Hurry up, I’m cold._

_21:44_

_< 3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 _

_21:44_

The drive home felt quick and dreamy, half-asleep as he was. City lights flashed and blurred outside, and rain spattered fat and heavy against the windows.

When Seungcheol had bought his apartment, it had been a dizzyingly reckless move brought on by the euphoria of his still-new permanent job and his first-ever big bonus check. He’d wanted to impress, well, everyone. Had wanted to prove to his parents, friends, himself that he had made it in Seoul and that he was a dependable well-to-do adult now, who could commit to things like mortgages and minor bathroom renovations. When he’d taken Jeonghan to the apartment for the first time, he’d been pleasantly complimentary but largely non-committal, which had left Seungcheol itching. Really, he’d wanted to impress Jeonghan, more than anyone.

That day he’d ended up folded into the closet in the entrance hall of his new home, because Jeonghan had taken one look at it, tilted his head devastatingly, and dared that he wouldn’t fit in it. The warmly amused eyes Jeonghan had met him with after Seungcheol had proved him wrong flashed in his mind every time he hung up his coat there after a long day.

Getting his things put away, Seungcheol followed the lights to the living room. The tv droned the day’s news on low and a spicy smell of chicken stew lingered in the air, emanating from the bowl on the sofa table.

Jeonghan lay on the sofa, stretched out on his side, head pillowed on the plush armrest and seemingly engrossed by his phone. His blond hair was mussed and the worn, stretched-out neckline of the t-shirt he was wearing exposed his collarbone fetchingly. On the plush white furniture, he looked like an angel on his personal little cloud. Seungcheol felt a goofy grin stretch his face despite the numbing exhaustion. Had it not been for the steam still rising from the freshly heated bowl, he might have almost believed Jeonghan fully oblivious to his existence.

“I love you,” Seungcheol said, because that’s what he would’ve meant by saying anything else and they’d been together for too long for him to try and find coy ways to express himself.

A smile tugged at Jeonghan’s rosy mouth, but he didn’t raise his eyes from the phone screen.

“I love you too,” finally he looked, displeasure flitting on his face as he took in Seungcheol’s by-now creased suit and tie that hung low and limp, “Come here. You look like you’re gonna fall over. Eat, before it gets cold.”

Seungcheol shuffled obligingly forward, bending down to claim a kiss off Jeonghan’s mouth, before dropping down to sit on the floor between the table and Jeonghan in repose, who’d dropped a pillow on the floor just in time to cushion his heavy landing.

He spooned the stew down, ill-graced and uncaring of the way it burned all the way to his stomach. Jeonghan stayed quiet as he ate, fingers tapping on the screen one-handed. The other stroked softly over Seungcheol’s nape; slow and steady. His skin was cool and Seungcheol wanted him to lay that hand on his forehead.

The empty bowl clattered against the glass tabletop. Uncaring, Seungcheol leaned back against the sofa and nestled his head to Jeonghan’s sternum. If he focused, he could hear, faintly, Jeonghan’s heartbeat. Slow and steady. 

A cool hand landed against his forehead, brushing away errant hair, before stilling on his brow. For two of Jeonghan’s heartbeats, Seungcheol wanted to cry. Whether from exhaustion, gratitude, or love, he didn’t know.

“Hmm, tired boy,” Jeonghan droned, thumb circling his temple. There was a piece of glitter stuck to the edge of Jeonghan's nail and idly Seungcheol wondered what kinds of crafts the kindergarteners had made that day, “You work hard.”

Seungcheol whined in response, playing up the pitifulness of it. He was rewarded with a softly amused snort of laughter. For a moment they simply stayed there in the silence, half listening to the weather predictions on the tv, half just breathing.

“You know I’ll be here no matter what, right?” Jeonghan said then, into the quiet. His voice was poised and deliberately nonchalant like he tended to be when he cared very much.

“Hm?”

“I like our life now. I like this apartment and the restaurants we go to and the things we have. But if you ever decide the money isn’t worth the work, I’ll still be here. You know that, right?”

Seungcheol was caught off-guard enough that it took him a moment to untangle his tongue.

“Yeah, I know,” he said and meant it.

Between the two of them, Seungcheol both made and cared about money far more than his boyfriend, who’d decided early on during university that what he really wanted was to run around and poke at worms with toddlers. It just happened that Seungcheol liked to use the money he earned on Jeonghan and on their shared life rather than squirreling it all away for some indefinite “later”. It had never occurred to him that it might be more than a pleasant perk to Jeonghan, whom he had loved since they were both nineteen and penniless students to whom luxury had been buying the more expensive brand of ramyeon.

“Just making sure,” Jeonghan said and carded his slim fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, sweeping it back, “If you ever decide to quit, I’ll be there. We’ll trash the office, fuck on your desk, burn some bridges.”

Seungcheol laughed and Jeonghan tightened his grip a little.

“I mean it. We’ll move to Jeju with Seungkwan. Learn to fish. I’ll get all the local kindergarten kids to work on the boat.”

“We have a boat?” Seungcheol asked, smiling. Little Jeju toddlers would worship Jeonghan just as his current tiny Seoul disciples did.

“For the fishing, keep up,” Jeonghan tutted, unable to hide the amusement lurking under his serious tone, “We’ll be fishermen on Jeju and live in a little house with no Seoul lights or noise, and we’ll be just as happy there as we are here.”

Seungcheol captured the hand petting him and brought it down against his mouth, pressing a long, dry kiss against the palm. He was overcome with such a debilitating wave of affection that he couldn’t have ever put it into adequate words, so instead he tried to force it into Jeonghan’s skin soundlessly. He believed Jeonghan knew what he felt, because Jeonghan knew everything about him with a sort of eery accuracy that could only be born out of time.

“You don’t have to worry. I’ll tell you, if I want to fuck you on my office desk and move us to Jeju. I really am just tired.”

It hadn’t always been just tiredness and Jeonghan knew it better than anyone, but Seungcheol meant it now. He wanted this life, cherished this life. The tiredness was because of accomplishment, not because of fighting the yawning murky fear and emptiness that had once submerged him.

“Let’s go to bed, then,“ Jeonghan decided, voice soft and airy as he coaxed them both up. Seungcheol dealt with loud, demanding people daily and was good at arguing and standing his own ground. He would bend backwards from a glance from Jeonghan. “We can practice the office bit a little.”


	2. the one where they're tipsy students at a bus stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungcheol’s arm was a comfortable weight across Jeonghan’s shoulders, as they huddled together under a shared umbrella to escape from the light drizzle misting Seoul, waiting for a bus home on a grey Thursday evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess we got ourselves a drabble series, lads. this one is even shorter and makes even less sense than the first one. i saw a picture of scoups holding an umbrella for jeonghan, so what else was i going to do but write in medias res nonsense about it? they're all university students here, i aged up dino a little to fit into the ol' gang.

Seungcheol’s arm was a comfortable weight across Jeonghan’s shoulders, as they huddled together under a shared umbrella to escape from the light drizzle misting Seoul, waiting for a bus home on a grey Thursday evening. At a courteous distance from the bus stop, Joshua and Minghao had lit cigarettes and were pretending like they weren’t freezing in their fashionable leather jackets that were too light for early December. Jeonghan shivered just looking at them, though his own woolen peacoat, thick scarf, and knitted gloves were keeping the cold out far better. Seungcheol’s free hand came up at once and he fiddled with his scarf, making a useless effort at tucking it closer to his throat.

“Cold?” Seungcheol murmured, head tilted close to Jeonghan’s, “It’s going to be a while before the bus comes, we can take a taxi, if you want.” As sweet as the offer was, they’d all already spent far too much money on soju and noodles to be hailing taxis all the way home to the outskirts of the civilized world.

“It’s fine,” said Jeonghan and patted Seungcheol’s hand away from his scarf, that he was mostly just messing up. Seungcheol had had his fair share of alcohol that night and while he was tipsy at most, his already affectionate nature only heightened with drinks.

“What if I say I’m cold?” Seungcheol pouted and caught Jeonghan’s hand in his. He wasn’t wearing gloves, because apparently Jeonghan was the only adult in their friend group. He squeezed his hand tighter around Seungcheol’s in a poor attempt at warming him.

“Then I’d say _‘dress better next time_ ’ probably.”

“My baby is so cruel,” whined Seungcheol, overdramatic and smiling. He nuzzled his face against Jeonghan’s and pressed three quick kisses up his jawline, the last one landing just behind his earlobe. Jeonghan shivered again.

He’d never been good at receiving physical affection, certainly not in public. Joshua had once called him a cat, who would only accept pets if he was the one to initiate them. Until six months ago Jeonghan would have agreed, but then known human octopus Choi Seungcheol had started calling him his boyfriend and Jeonghan’s boundaries for personal space had started to erode more and more with each passing day. Needlessly, he tucked his hair behind the ear to chase away the lingering feeling.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Chan re-emerge from the convenience store he’d ducked into as they’d reached the bus stop. He stopped to chat with the delinquent smokers and Jeonghan knew what would follow.

“Yah!” he raised his voice enough to attract their friends’ attention, “Chan! Come here! Come to hyung!” He made little pet-calling sounds for extra effect.

Chan made a face like the embarrassed child he was. Joshua and Minghao grinned, teeth flashing with schadenfreude. Seungcheol giggled. Despite all his performative reluctance, Chan dragged his feet over, scowling to hide a smile.

“Can you stop being embarrassing for one day?” Chan whined, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark blue coat and hunching his shoulders; the picture of juvenile discomfort, “Just one.”

“Absolutely not, it keeps me beautiful and moisturized,” Jeonghan replied loftily and beckoned his youngest closer like a monarch, “Come here, baby, there’s room under the umbrella.”

Chan’s gaze flicked from Jeonghan to Seungcheol and he made a face like he’d bit into a lemon.

“I’m good here, thanks. It’s not raining hard enough to make getting between you two worth it,” he said and added, after a beat, “And if I wanted to smoke, I could. You’re not actually my mother.”

Jeonghan scoffed and looked to Seungcheol in exaggerated disbelief, who shook his head gravely enough to pass for a middle-aged, long-suffering parent at the ripe age of twenty-one.

“This kid! No respect! I bore you with my own body,” Jeonghan exclaimed, “And now, I try to save you from a headache today and an expensive habit tomorrow, and this is what I get! You’re grounded!”

“You can’t ground me. I don't live with you.”

“Grounded and forbidden from smoking until you can buy your own cigarettes!”

Chan made a show of ignoring Jeonghan and turned to Seungcheol with a pursed mouth and raised brows.

“This lunatic is who you pined after for like a year, really?”

Warmth spilled in Jeonghan’s chest and he went quiet against Seungcheol’s side, unsure whether to be more embarrassed or pleased by how obvious their feelings had been and continued to be. Seungcheol, however, didn’t miss a beat as he tightened his hold on Jeonghan and cocked an eyebrow at Chan.

“Don’t talk about your mother like that.”

Chan groaned in defeat, flinging himself dramatically around, and practically ran back to Joshua and Minghao. Jeonghan buried his face against Seungcheol’s shoulder and laughed and laughed until the bus finally came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and weird, just how i like 'em! please don't take this as commentary on the real life members of svt, i'm not trying to cast any kinds of aspersions on their real life personalities or behavior. and thank you for being so kind about the first little thing i posted, it brightened my very stressful spring!


	3. the one where seungcheol is sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everyone out,” Seungcheol spits, but before anyone else has the reflex to move, he’s halfway out of the room himself. After a few heavy steps, his bedroom door bangs closed gracelessly and if possible, the silence in the living room deepens. 
> 
> tw: mental illness, improper use of medications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one starts off a little rougher and less happy and contains discussion of mental illness and medication. if that upsets you, don't read this. but i promise these drabbles aren't about hardcore angst or misery, they will always end on a light note, including this one. timewise, jeonghan and seungcheol are a couple years out of university in this one.

“ _Enough_!”

Seungcheol’s voice is rough and angry and it carries across the room like the bark of a big dog. Silence doesn’t as much fall as it snaps into place, immediate and absolute. Seokmin flinches visibly, so does Mingyu. Jeonghan, who is coming out of the kitchen carrying a glass of water, spills it and it trickles ice cold down his arm. He looks around Seungcheol’s living room, where all thirteen of them have crammed into to try and work out the logistics of taking a trip down to the beach to celebrate the last of them graduating. They’ve been loud today, sure, excited to see each other all in the same place for the first time in months, but they’re always loud by the nature of there being thirteen of them. Seungcheol has been working a lot, too much, the dark circles under his eyes deepening by the week, but he seemed calm just a few minutes ago, when Jeonghan left the room to get a drink. He doesn’t understand what he’s walked into and he hates it.

“Everyone out,” Seungcheol spits, but before anyone else has the reflex to move, he’s halfway out of the room himself. After a few heavy steps, his bedroom door bangs closed gracelessly and if possible, the silence in the living room deepens.

The twelve of them look around to each other, everyone with the same startled, worried eyes. Finally, a ripple effect leads all eyes to Jeonghan. He takes a breath and sets the glass down on the dinner table by his right hip, forcing his hand to stay steady.

“Alright, we’ll continue this another time. It’s best you head off. I’ll talk to him.”

They get up haltingly, gathering bags and phones scattered around the too-small space.

“What happened?” Jeonghan murmurs under his breath to Jihoon, who comes up to tap his knuckles gently on Jeonghan’s arm.

“I don’t have a fucking clue. Cheol suggested some weekend in June, and then Wonwoo said something about it not working for him and then everyone started chiming in and then-,” Jihoon shrugs, “It wasn’t anything. He’s seemed quiet this week, though, right?”

Jeonghan is taken back. He practically lives with Seungcheol and hasn’t noticed. How is it possible that he hasn’t noticed something Jihoon, who they see maybe once every two weeks, has? A cold lump sinks down his gut and he doesn’t know what to do. He hates it and, briefly, he hates Seungcheol for putting him into this situation, to hovering by the living room entrance, awkwardly watching all his friends file out of the front door, until Minghao pulls it closed behind him, leaving Jeonghan in the quiet emptiness with a cautious look back.

For a few ticks of the clock, Jeonghan tries to listen to any noise coming out of Seungcheol’s bedroom. There is none. So, he gathers up all the tea cups, water glasses and empty bottles in the living room and fills the dishwasher, desperately trying to find something to do that isn’t kicking in the bedroom door and yelling, because he’s so fucking worried he’s having trouble not being angry about it. He wipes and disinfects the kitchen counters, realigns all the condiments in the fridge, and entertains a brief, delirious thought of organising the cutlery drawer. Instead, he puts the kettle on and while the water boils, he tries to come up with something to say. Anything to say.

The bedroom is dark, when Jeonghan knocks on the door and enters without waiting for a reply. Seungcheol is lying on the bed, with his back turned to him, still and quiet. Jeonghan has slept next to him enough nights to know he isn’t asleep. He sets a cup of tea on the nightstand, next to his own spare pair of glasses with an outdated prescription he doesn’t even remember leaving here.

Jeonghan wants to touch Seungcheol. It’s become the default way they interact when they don’t have anything to say. A hand on the waist, a temple or a chin leaned on a shoulder, fingers stroking errant pieces of hair. Jeonghan wants to put his hand on Seungcheol’s waist or press it against his shoulder blades. It’s a foreign and upsetting feeling to have to second guess whether the touch would be accepted.

“Everyone left. I did the dishes. There’s a cup of tea on my nightstand for you,” Jeonghan lists out for lack of anything cleverer to say. There’s only a tense silence. In the dim light, he can only barely see Seungcheol’s upper body moving with his breathing. It’s something, at least.

“It was a shitty thing to do, Cheol,” comes out next, after a long stretch of nothing. No movement, no acknowledgement that Jeonghan’s even there. He knows he should be more patient, more understanding, kinder. But he doesn’t understand. For once, he has no idea what is going on in Seungcheol’s head and it grates at him.

“I thought I said ‘ _everyone out’_.”

If it hadn’t been coming out of Seungcheol’s body right in front of him, Jeonghan would’ve thought the voice belonged to a stranger. It is low and cold and mean, but it also sounds strained, like something forced out. Seungcheol’s shoulder flinches as he says it, as if ducking away from the impact. It is, by far, the cruellest thing he’s ever said to Jeonghan, even though he knows he doesn’t mean it. Maybe it’s so cruel because he doesn’t mean it and says it anyway.

“Also shitty,” Jeonghan bites out. Another long silence follows. The only sound is Seungcheol’s wristwatch ticking lightly. The ticks seem to go on forever. “You’re scaring me, Seungcheol. I’m scared.” If Jeonghan were a crier, he’d cry now. He considers becoming a crier, just to see how he’d react.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I didn’t,” Seungcheol says, finally, and he _is_ a crier. He still doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders hitch with short, hiccupping breaths. “I don’t know how this happened. Everyone was being so loud and I’ve been trying so hard-,” The rest of the sentence fades out into sobs, but something softens in the line of his body enough that Jeonghan feels good about shuffling a little closer on the bed, about laying a hand on his waist. Seungcheol flinches but doesn’t draw away.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Jeonghan says, low and grasping at calm, eyes flitting around the room to try and figure out anything that could be helpful. He’s used to kids crying, knows how to cheer them up. It feels wrong to try and cheer Seungcheol up right now. A familiar package of pills catches his attention over Seungcheol’s shoulder. It’s been there for days, cast a little aside behind the bedside lamp. Something sparks. “Cheol, have you taken your meds today?”

The sobbing stills. An odd elation swells in Jeonghan. Something concrete to do.

“I-I ran out Sunday night. I mean to go pick up the refill on Monday, but then everything was so busy, and I felt fine, so I kept pushing it back and- “

“Okay, alright,” Jeonghan interrupts him, because he’s starting to babble now, a little. He pats Seungcheol on the hip, and gets up from the bed, “Up, up. Come on, sweetheart, up you get. This we can fix.”

He practically pulls Seungcheol up and ushers him across the hall into the bathroom to wash his face. While he’s in there, Jeonghan throws out the cooled cup of tea that was more for him than Seungcheol in the first place and fishes out his phone to send a quick mass text. _Things OK, send nice stuff to him once he says sorry, no one mentions this again._ When Seungcheol comes back out, his hair is neat and face less splotchy, though his eyes are a little red around the edges. He doesn’t quite meet Jeonghan’s gaze, but that’s fine. What matters is that he’s up, Jeonghan thinks. Hopes.

It’s a ten-minute walk to the nearest pharmacy. Seungcheol stays quiet but reaches out to take Jeonghan’s hand and holds it firm, thumb occasionally coming to sweep over his knuckles. The sun is out in full force still, though low on the sky by now. It feels like a whole different world to the dim quiet of the bedroom. When they’re halfway back home, little plastic bag from the pharmacy swinging in rhythm with their steps, Seungcheol finally speaks.

“I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.” He sounds miserable. Jeonghan squeezes his hand and tries, desperately, to think of something that would help. He doesn’t come up with anything wise, so he goes for the truth.

“Yeah, it kind of was,” he says and barrels on before Seungcheol has the time to react, “It was embarrassing and hurtful and avoidable. But Vernon and Jun fought so bad they didn’t speak to each other for like half of last year. Soonyoung danced in a tiger print leotard and a tail in front of all his graduating year and most of them still think he’s a furry. That was embarrassing as shit. Most of the things Mingyu does in his life could be described as avoidable. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, you just have to be willing to say sorry. Everybody fucks up, Cheol.”

“No one more than Mingyu,” Seungcheol agrees, solemn. It’s a weak joke, but Jeonghan is so relieved he laughs. Seungcheol takes out his phone and types something quickly. Jeonghan’s phone chimes as he puts his away. They only manage to take a couple more steps before an erratic flood of notification chimes comes through, reaching such a crescendo at one point that Jeonghan has to see what they’re sending in the group chat.

It is video proof, long thought lost to history and shame, of Soonyoung’s tiger recital, sent by Soonyoung himself, with _cheol horanghae <3 <3 <3._ It’s followed by forty messages of Seungkwan losing his mind laughing. Jeonghan loves his friends, then, with a fierceness that threatens to buckle his knees.

That night Seungcheol takes his usual dose under Jeonghan’s watchful eye, and they’re in bed, curled together by ten o’clock, worn and fragile but whole. The next morning, another pill, and a cautious kiss, before Jeonghan leaves for work. That night, a pill, a more confident kiss, and an unforced smile that reaches the eyes.

Things get easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to reiterate that these drabbles aren't meant to reflect my interpretation of the real life svt members, their personalities or behaviours. this is all fiction. i've personally had a diagnosis for depression for more than a decade and while i didn't make explicit the type of mental illness at play in this drabble, i hope you believe me that it is not a subject i want to trivialize or over-dramatize. take your meds, lads! next one will be less serious, i promise. it will also not be tomorrow lmao, i was really on a kick at the beginning of the week.
> 
> thank you so much for your kind comments so far, they've really spurred me on!


	4. the one where jeonghan hides under a bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not here!” an airy, giddy voice announces as a boy-shaped blur slams into his room and forces itself under Seungcheol’s bed within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't stop won't stop drabbling. something light and sweet this time. they're first year university students. i've also stopped being a coward and taken this off anon. hello world.

The air circulation in Seungcheol’s dorm room is poor. It tends to get stuffy there fast and it’s hard to concentrate on reading, when his head feels like someone is holding a pillow over it. It is why he has left the door to the hallway ajar, wedged open with an already scuffed shoe. Usually the biggest downside to the arrangement is the noise that then carries over easier from the kitchen shared between a dozen students living on the floor. There aren’t usually _invaders_.

“I’m not here!” an airy, giddy voice announces as a boy-shaped blur slams into his room and forces itself under Seungcheol’s bed within seconds. Seungcheol doesn’t have time to properly turn around from his desk facing the window and take in what’s happening, before the boy is neatly tucked away and the door clicks shut, his trusty air circulation hack disturbed. A silence falls, heavy and startled.

It’s not that Seungcheol doesn’t know, with his brain and all, who’s just rolled under his bed. The voice, the general aura of light-footed mischief, the flash of long honey-blond hair he’d caught from the corner of his eye; it is Yoon Jeonghan. It’s more that Seungcheol has spent a good month or so, after meeting Jeonghan at a Halloween party, trying to come up with a reason or at least an excuse to get him alone for a moment and now he’s just here. In Seungcheol’s room. Under his bed. Briefly, he sends a silent prayer to whatever deity that he hasn’t dropped anything wildly disgusting down there.

“Uh, what are you -,”

“Shh!” comes a sharp interruption, muffled by the mattress. Because Yoon Jeonghan is under his bed, in his dorm room. They’re alone in his room. Seungcheol would feel faint if he weren’t too busy being confused. “I’m not here!”

There are quick, half-running footsteps in the hallway that come to a halt outside his door. After a moment’s pause, a polite knock comes.

“It’s open, come in,” Seungcheol calls. Joshua Hong peeks in, smiling courteously. There’s something of a wild light in his eyes that belies the serene façade.

“Hey, sorry to disturb, but have you seen Yoon Jeonghan? I saw him head this way.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know Joshua well, just that he’s from the States, Jeonghan’s roommate and that they seem near inseparable. Whenever they’ve spoken, it’s been easy, pleasant, and brief. Jeonghan has always been there to act as a conduit for conversation. He’s very handsome; dark hair falling over big eyes, sharp features catching the dreary dorm lighting in a way that makes him look almost a little unsettlingly perfect.

“Oh, sorry, I haven’t,” Seungcheol lies and then, more genuinely, asks, “What’s up? Do you need him for something?”

Joshua shakes his head, smiling pleasantly, already pulling back from the door and turning to leave.

“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m just going to kill him a little. Thanks, Seungcheol!” The door is pressed firmly closed and Joshua’s footsteps go back the other way. Seungcheol listens to them fade away, as does Jeonghan, it seems, because as soon as he no longer hears them, Jeonghan’s voice pipes up.

“Huzzah!” he cheers, still invisible under the bed, voice a little muffled but sweet. It sounds like he’s smiling. Seungcheol’s chest feels all warm and glowy, and he kind of wants to die about it, a little. It doesn’t help that Jeonghan scoots out enough for his beautiful face to peek up at Seungcheol, long golden hair fanned around him. It’s a new style for him, just a few days ago he was still a reddish brown. Seungcheol can’t stop noticing these things.

“You make a good ally, Choi Seungcheol,” Jeonghan says, cheek pillowed on a hand like he’s making himself comfortable. He could make himself comfortable on Seungcheol’s bed. Seungcheol does not say this out loud. Instead, he says thanks, feeling wholly unprepared to continue existing in a closed space with Yoon Jeonghan. Maybe he should have ratted him out to Joshua after all.

“What did you do to him?” Seungcheol asks, abandoning the pen he’s been clutching this whole time pretending that any second now he’s going to turn back to his book and his notes. It’s not happening, not with Yoon Jeonghan eyeing him coyly from the floor. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms loosely. Jeonghan’s eyes follow the movement and if Seungcheol flexes a little, it’s absolutely nobody’s business.

“Nothing,” Jeonghan says. His eyes get big and guileless for a moment that lasts long enough that Seungcheol wants to believe him and give him treats, before whatever little gremlin resides within him takes over again and a wide, toothy smile appears. “I may have told him that the café on the corner has a green promotional thing, where you get a free Americano if you bring them ten empty recyclable bottles.”

Seungcheol tries his best not to laugh and give Jeonghan that satisfaction. It’s a terribly mean joke to pull. He shouldn’t reward this behaviour. He can feel the grin pulling at his mouth, probably making him look like his face in crumbling.

“That’s so mean,” he tries to get out, steadily. Sternly. He’s a respectable future lawyer, after all.

“I know the guy, who works there during evening shifts. Little Seokmin. I tutor him sometimes; he’s applying here next year too. I got him in on it and did it myself first, to prove it's real. Too bad Seokmin wasn’t working when Joshua went in today.” There’s a happy, dancing glint in Jeonghan’s eyes that crinkle with the width of his smile. Seungcheol cannot help the snort that escapes him.

“So mean,” he repeats.

“Joshua’s all prim and polite constantly,” Jeonghan says then, smile softening a little, “All tightly wound up and scared of doing anything that would ruffle anyone’s feathers. I wanted him to relax a little, let out some steam. And look at him now, running around the dorms, talking to people, telling them he’s going to kill me. I bet he’s messing with my stuff right now. It’s good for him.”

“Is this how you’re going to shape the minds of the nation’s next generation?” Seungcheol teases, “Teacher Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Confidence and an open mind are virtues,” Jeonghan sniffs and finally crawls out from under the bed, dusting his baby blue sweatpants, “Also cleanliness, which you clearly know nothing about. Have you ever swept this floor?” Seungcheol is nineteen, the baby of his family, and living on his own for the first time ever. He’s lucky he even knows what a broom looks like.

“Do you sweep yours?” he cocks an eyebrow. Jeonghan shrugs.

“Point taken.”

A brief, painfully awkward silence falls between them. Seungcheol doesn’t have anything witty to say about brooms. Neither, it seems, does Jeonghan, who tucks a lock of hair behind the sweetly round curve of his ear and shifts his weight from one foot to another.

“Well, thank you, Choi Seungcheol. I’ll get out of your hair now. Maybe Joshua’s too busy plotting his revenge to hunt me down.”

Jeonghan moves towards the door. Inspiration strikes Seungcheol, bolstered by Jeonghan choosing to hide in his room, under his bed, even though he knows almost everyone else on this floor just as well as he knows Seungcheol.

“Hey uh, is the café any good? The one, where you definitely can’t pay with empty bottles?”

Jeonghan turns towards him a little and looks momentarily caught off guard but also a little pleased.

“Yeah, it’s good. Also open late. Still.”

“You want to put off being killed a little longer? I could use a break from Plato,” Seungcheol is already reaching for his keys and wallet, too delighted about the opportunity to spend time alone with Jeonghan to be nervous about, well, spending time alone with Jeonghan.

“I do enjoy being alive,” Jeonghan says mildly. Seungcheol’s eyes catch on the sweet, almost shy turn of his mouth and after that evening he never really stops looking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you probably guessed, i stole the premise behind jeonghan's trickery from when he convinced poor baby minghao that abalones were a viable currency. he's such an unhinged little devil and i would die for him. i hope you're all well and safe, thank you for reading and let me know if you liked this foray into the pre-relationship times. frankly, it was just an exercise in not waxing poetic about jeonghan's mansae era hair for a 1000 words.


	5. the one where jeonghan tries to fix a sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Landlords are the enemy of the common people,” Seungcheol agreed faux-solemnly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this the most saccharine, self-indulgent thing i've ever written? it's possible. jeonghan and seungcheol are in their mid-twenties in this one.

Yoon Jeonghan didn’t know anything about plumbing – that much was becoming painfully obvious to him as he lay on his back, wedged under the kitchen counter with a wrench in his hand that he aimlessly poked at bolts and screws. The sink hadn’t drained properly for two weeks, and despite multiple messages to his landlord and attempts at YouTube-sourced plumbing hacks, the situation hadn’t improved. His landlord was probably intentionally avoiding him after he email-bombed him for a month to get the lock on his front door replaced with something more secure, because Vernon once managed to open it with a credit card and a well-placed slam of his hand, when they were returning from a bar in the middle of the night, and Jeonghan hadn’t felt safe in his home since.

“You know, you’re not supposed to pour used cooking oil down the drain,” Seungcheol offered. Jeonghan couldn’t see him, but he could just imagine his earnest expression as he sat on the opposite kitchen counter, drinking a beer, and helping not at all.

“Yeah, I know.”

Seungcheol made a doubtful noise. Jeonghan supposed it was deserved, considering his general level of talent regarding anything kitchen related. He’d ruined marshmallows for everyone in their friend group and was still paying the price for that.

“I don’t even cook, how would I have managed to pour enough oil down the drain to block – “ He was interrupted by a sudden leak of water directly down the front of his shirt. Sheepishly, he tightened back up the bolt he’d been trying to pry loose and crab-shuffled out from under the counter into the soft yellow sunlight of a Sunday afternoon. At least he’d had the foresight to commandeer one of Seungcheol’s old gym tees for his doomed attempt at home repair. As it was already drenched, he didn’t feel too bad wiping the weird plumbing gunk from his hands onto the hem.

Seungcheol smiled down at him from his perch, where he was sitting prettily; all clean and handsome and not covered in mystery goo. Jeonghan made a face at him.

“Just let me call a professional, babe. You’re very talented in many things, but I don’t think this is one of them.”

“It’s a matter of principle. I shouldn’t have to have my boyfriend buy me a plumber when this is clearly my stupid coward of a landlord’s problem. What else do I pay him rent for?”

“Landlords are the enemy of the common people,” Seungcheol agreed faux-solemnly. He had that certain set to his mouth Jeonghan knew meant he wanted to say something more. Instead, he took a sip of his beer and kicked his heels idly against the drawer doors. Jeonghan gave him a moment and busied himself by getting up the floor and fruitlessly dusting himself off. When Seungcheol still didn’t spit out whatever it was he wanted to say, Jeonghan took the initiative and wedged himself between his lovely thighs, draping his arms lightly over his boyfriend’s shoulders. Over the years, he’d perfected the angle of head tilt needed to make Seungcheol divulge anything and everything.

“What are you thinking about?”

Seungcheol flushed a little at having been called out, put down his beer, and set his hands at Jeonghan’s waist, tugging him a little closer still. His thumbs pressed softly against Jeonghan’s ribcage, and Jeonghan had to fight off the urge to pull him into a kiss, because something was up, and he wouldn’t be this easily distracted off the matter.

“Okay look,” Seungcheol started, after gnawing at his lower lip for a moment, “I know we talked about moving in together after your lease is up here, but I hate this apartment, I hate your landlord, I hate the location and that weird creepy neighbour, who keeps playing Gregorian chants all night, and I want you to come live with me like. Now. And not in five months.”

Their living situation had been a topic of conversation for a while now. After graduation, they’d both wanted to live on their own for a bit, then Jeonghan had gotten a job that necessitated living away from Seoul, and after finally finding a placement in the city, he’d been stuck with a lease in a shitty apartment building with the world’s worst person as his landlord and a two-hour commute. All that combined with Seungcheol’s obscene work hours left them in a situation, where Sundays were their only sure days together and even those were usually spent laying together on the couch, too exhausted from the week to do much more than work their way through Netflix’s catalogue and have lazy sex, where Jeonghan usually made Seungcheol do most, if not all, the work.

“I’m tired of missing you all week,” Seungcheol said, pouting a little. His mouth was so lovely and red that Jeonghan couldn’t help but lean in to kiss him, quick and soft. “I know moving is a hassle and that you’ll be stuck with the rent, but I can take care of things. I can take care of _you_ ; you just have to let me.”

Jeonghan had loved him for years and it still struck him speechless how earnest he could be; how he carried his heart on his sleeve, and how it didn’t seem to cost him anything to say exactly how he felt and what he wanted. Sometimes, he wondered what he’d ever done to deserve such unreserved love, when most of the time, still, his first instinct was to shrink away from it. It was another on-going topic of discussion between them and Jeonghan had promised to try to be better about it, hadn’t he?

So, instead of shrinking away, Jeonghan leaned in.

“Alright. Okay. Let’s do it.”

Seungcheol’s mouth crashed against his, hands coming up to cup his face. Jeonghan’s mind went quiet for a moment, only registering Seungcheol’s tongue, soft but insistent against his, and the faint bitter taste of beer. For someone who blushed, pouted, and giggled more than most of Jeonghan’s kindergarten students, his boyfriend kissed like a drama lead. When Seungcheol finally pulled away, deeming him well-kissed enough with a playful nip at his lower lip, Jeonghan could only blink, tilting forward instinctually to chase after the feeling. It took him longer than he was proud of to regain his bearings enough to say something.

“Clearly I should let you live out your sugar daddy dreams more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you simply gotta write cw teen drama dream boyfriend choi seungcheol and i will not apologise for that. if you wanna say hi, i'm now on twitter @yilinges. i'm extremely average on there, and medically incapable of tweeting anything that doesn't mention jeonghan, but at least i don't bite!


	6. the one where seungcheol tries a jello shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d been told that in the spirit of international culture exchange the English majors had pushed for a Halloween costume theme, even though it was only the beginning of October. It meant that he knocked shoulders with a mummy, a pirate, and something wearing a feather-encrusted garbage bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place in their first year at university. please note that this contains a lot of alcohol use, so if that's something that upsets you, i recommend you skip this one. a cameo from nct's johnny, who i know is actually also 95er, but i aged him up for jokez.

The international student club knew how to throw a party. Seungcheol had thought he had, by his first fall semester, gotten used to the swing of things at university. As he made his way through the ocean of people gathered in the dingy basement of the humanities building, where the student unions held court, he had to admit he hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. He’d been told that in the spirit of international culture exchange, the English majors had pushed for a Halloween costume theme, even though it was only the beginning of October. It meant that he knocked shoulders with a mummy, a pirate, and something wearing a feather-encrusted garbage bag. The music was loud, everyone seemed to be well on their way to hammered, and Seungcheol was more than ready to find his friends and catch up to the general level of inebriation. It really didn’t do to be the only sober person in a crowd of happy drunks.

“Seungcheol!”

Wonwoo’s voice barely carried over the noise, as he appeared from the crowd and grabbed Seungcheol’s elbow to drag him into a corner their friends had commandeered. It was a good spot – they had a table and enough chairs so that only about half of them had to sit on the floor that was, at most, questionably clean at that point. Beer and soju bottles, bags of snacks, and everyone’s phones covered the table. Someone had balanced a pack of cigarettes upright on the lip of a beer bottle and a lighter on top of it, which seemed like a disaster simply waiting to happen. Seungcheol would’ve bet money on Junhui.

“Did you get locked into the library or something?” Wonwoo asked, thrusting a beer at Seungcheol, “We thought you’d bailed.”

“Do you know how long it takes to put on kohl?” Seungcheol whined, gesturing at the black smudges around his eyes, “I almost went blind midway.”

“Explains the result,” Junhui piped in, reaching out to run a thumb too hard under Seungcheol’s right eye. For someone, whose grasp of the Korean language was spotty at best, he instantly became fluent, when he was being a bitch, “I know you were going for a vampire, probably, but you look like a magician who got mugged.”

“Well, what are you supposed to be? A fart in a bag?”

Junhui, who was wearing all brown with an obscene amount of cotton wool fluffed into a cloud around his neck, scoffed and pointed at the black dot on his nose and the little animal ears on his head that were nearly obscured by his hair.

“I’m obviously Eevee the Pokémon. I think you did blind yourself.”

Had Seungcheol been in a mood for an all-night argument, he would’ve pointed out that Eevee didn’t have mouse ears, but as he was actually looking forward to having fun, he let it go with a shrug and downed half his beer in one go.

“There you go,” Wonwoo cheered him with his own bottle. He was Harry Potter, which wasn’t original, but at least it was recognisable. Wonwoo Potter was also, clearly, well on his way to shitfaced, if the glassy look on his usually attentive face was any indication. Considering how much of a lightweight he was, Seungcheol suspected he was on his second beer, at most.

“Hey guys! We got jello shots, Seungcheol, come get one before they’re all gone!” A cheery, American voice called from behind Seungcheol’s back. It was Johnny - a tall upperclassman, one of the international club’s driving forces, who sometimes came to play pickup basketball with the other political science majors and who seemed to immediately remember everyone he’d ever met and consider them all his friends. It was nice, albeit a little confusing. He’d been the one to invite Seungcheol and his friends to the party, so it seemed rude to not accept an offer of brightly coloured gelatine, when Johnny seemed so proud of his accomplishment.

Seungcheol followed him through the crowd, mostly by tracking the happy swing of his shoulder-length hair, to a table with an almost empty tray of little plastic cups and a giant watermelon with a bunch of straws sticking out of it. There was someone with a pair of plastic devil horns straightening out the rows of shots, whom Johnny introduced as Joshua. Joshua greeted him politely, though his Korean was more heavily American accented than Johnny’s, before wandering away. Seungcheol barely noticed him leave; he was too busy eyeing the watermelon with dread-tinged curiosity.

“What is that?” he asked and pointed at the fruit for good measure. Johnny laughed.

“We injected a bottle of Midori into it.”

“Why?”

In response, Seungcheol only received a shrug that conveyed the eternal _why not?_ reasoning of all burned out students. Someone called out Johnny’s name from the crowd.

“Oops, gotta go. Have fun, Seungcheol! Try the yellow ones before they’re gone - lemon’s the best flavour. Stay away from the black ones, they’re liquorice.”

Lemon was actually disgusting, but Seungcheol allowed the American his eccentricities. He picked a bright red one instead, downed it after only a split second of apprehension, and nearly choked as the congealed blob of artificial strawberry and vodka made its way down his throat. After a few bracing coughs, he briefly considered the watermelon but couldn’t bring himself to approach it. Some things were best left a mystery, he thought.

From the corner of his eye, Seungcheol could see the back of Johnny’s head as he sat on a couch tucked under a window, having an animated conversation with Joshua. In a moment of largesse, he picked up the last disgusting lemon shot and headed over.

Johnny was kind and never condescending, even though he was graduating soon and Seungcheol was just a lowly first year. Once, during the first semester, he’d found Seungcheol freaking out by a locked door in the political science wing. Seungcheol had been trying to turn in an essay that had to be printed out, because the teacher was an old crone, but he hadn’t been able to get into the hallway where the professors’ pigeonholes were located. The deadline had been five minutes away, there was no one in sight, and Seungcheol had had a party he needed to get to. Johnny had helped him tape the essay to the hallway door and promised him that it would make its way to the professor’s hands. In the end, Seungcheol had gotten full marks on the course and only one sideways look from the professor when he saw her next.

The least Seungcheol could do was bring him a shot.

“Hey, here. It’s the last one.”

Three things happened in quick succession. One: Seungcheol’s knuckles tapped Johnny’s turned-away shoulder. Two: Seungcheol realised that the person he was accosting was considerably smaller than Johnny should have been even sitting down and, in fact, not wearing the same clothes at all. Three: a very unfamiliar face turned to look up at him.

It was a pretty face; high cheekbones and big dark eyes framed by long, reddish brown hair. The owner of the face was a young man, who blinked, startled, and then took the cup he was still holding out. Their fingers brushed and Seungcheol had the wildly irrational urge to shriek. He blamed it on the jello. All of him felt jolted, like someone had tackled him sideways. Hard.

“Thanks,” the boy – he couldn’t have been older than Seungcheol – said, as if strangers came up to him all the time, accosting him for drinks. Maybe they did. He downed the shot and Seungcheol couldn’t stop staring at him; at the bob of his throat, at the curve of his cheek where glitter caught the dim light, at the tongue that flashed out to sweep across his upper lip after he swallowed. Seungcheol was starting to think the jello shots were laced with something.

“That was disgusting,” the boy informed him and handed back the empty cup, looking up at him expectantly, which was fair enough. Seungcheol should have probably said or done something, anything, to explain himself. Instead, he pivoted and merged into the crowd without a word.

_What the fuck, what the fuck did you do, oh my god you’re the most embarrassing person who’s ever lived_ his brain supplied, unhelpfully, as he stumbled back to his friends, who’d luckily not witnessed this particularly shining moment in his life. Jihoon was complaining about something, all eyes on his fake Super Mario moustache that was slowly sliding off his face. Seungcheol picked up his forgotten bottle and proceeded to soothe his burning mortification with some Cass.

Many hours and many drinks later, when the old and the weak had been weeded out of the party and only the strong and appropriately wasted remained, Seungcheol was toddling out of the toilets. There was nothing like the momentary quiet and stillness of a bathroom to truly drive home how drunk you were. His face was numb, walking felt like standing on a travellator, and going outside to join Jihoon and Wonwoo for a cigarette was starting to feel like a good idea.

The party had long since spread out into the hallways, where people were either deep in nonsensical slurred conversations or making out against walls and pretending that a big potted fern was enough to hide them from view. Seungcheol swerved wide around a corner to avoid one of those couples and smacked his shoulder into someone.

“Ha, Shot Boy!”

Oh no. He considered hiding behind the couple hiding behind the fern.

“I don’t know what was in that thing you gave me, but it got me good.” Pretty Face, as Seungcheol had taken to calling him in his head, was flushed and giggly, as he swayed a little. Whether it was from their collision or just the alcohol, Seungcheol wasn’t sure. He cringed.

“Sorry about that, I thought you were someone else.”

“Eh,” Pretty Face waved the apology off, “It’s not like you forced it down my throat. But Shua did give me a lecture on why I shouldn’t just blindly accept drinks from magicians, so you won’t get me again.” He jabbed his finger at Seungcheol accusingly, as if the main driving force in Seungcheol’s life was tricking strangers into taking gross shots.

“I’m meant to be a vampire, actually,” Seungcheol informed him and pointed at the corner of his mouth, where earlier in the night, he’d drawn a careful streak of blood with Jihoon’s girlfriend’s lipstick after too many people had confused him for either a magician or the ringmaster of a circus, “And you’re one to talk, you don’t even have a costume.” Pretty Face was wearing a large fluffy white cardigan over a plain white tee and black skinny jeans. The only thing even remotely festive was the gold glitter he’d painted across his cheekbones and around his temples. He might have been wearing a little eyeliner, but Seungcheol couldn’t be sure; it was possible his eyes were just beautiful.

“Actually,” Pretty Face protested and pulled out something crumbled from the big pocket on his cardigan. He straightened out a circle of silver tinsel attached to a thin band and set it onto his head with a triumphant tilt to his chin, “I’m an angel.” His smile was wide and toothy.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol agreed breathily, before his brain caught up with his mouth. “Uhm. So. Uh, actually. My name is Choi Seungcheol. Not Shot Boy.” Pretty Face’s attention had started to slip away and whatever cogs were still turning in Seungcheol’s brain demanded that he keep up the conversation for a little bit longer, look at him for a little bit longer. For what, Seungcheol had no idea; there weren’t enough cogs left for that after he’d lost two rounds of Bus Driver in a row to Wonwoo, who Seungcheol suspected counted cards to avoid drinking. 

“Would’ve been hell of a coincidence if it was,” Pretty Face smiled, softer now. He fiddled with his halo a bit, so it was pristinely centred on the crown of his head and then held out a hand, seemingly having made the decision that this was worth his while, “I’m Yoon Jeonghan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huehueh i've been nervous abt this one. i considered making this something bigger and more cinematic and romantic but honestly, they're university first years. i was one myself and the truest thing i know about this world is that first year uni students are just human-shaped disasters. and yes, in my first year at uni i witnessed my friend turn in an essay by taping it to a door, because we were in a hurry to go to a pub crawl. let me know your thoughts! you all are the sweetest and i always enjoy hearing your comments. i'm also now on twitter @yilinges, come say hi!


	7. the one where seungcheol has a birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t feel different than he did at twenty-four or twenty-two, let alone last night. If anything, he’s a little worse after an anxiety-tinged dream, where he was failing to parallel park a car while his old military sergeant yelled at him from the passenger seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm constantly setting new personal bests on how saccharine i can make something.

Seungcheol’s alarm only manages to chime twice before he swipes it off and stumbles out of bed, eyes half-closed and raw against the dawn light filtering in between the blinds of his bedroom window. He checks his phone - no new messages - and goes through his morning routine on auto-pilot. A shower, a shave, teeth brushed, hair styled back, and work suit on. He catches his own eyes in the mirror as he’s fiddling with the knot of his tie in the hallway before heading out. 

It’s his twenty-sixth birthday. It doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t feel different than he did at twenty-four or twenty-two, let alone last night. If anything, he’s a little worse after an anxiety-tinged dream, where he was failing to parallel park a car while his old military sergeant yelled at him from the passenger seat. He’s closer to thirty than twenty - and even though outwardly he’s a successful adult, he feels like a child dressed up in his father’s suit, playing pretend and just hoping that no one questions why there’s a baby about to walk into an office building. He wonders when everyone around him will realize he doesn’t know what he’s doing, too. 

His phone chimes. 

_good morning! happy birthday!!! i love you._

_06:41_

It doesn’t help that Jeonghan is hours away, waking up in his own apartment in the outskirts of Daegu, about to leave for his own job, about to start another day they don’t get to share, even though Seungcheol has come to accept that this is the love of his life. It’s been like this for years now - the days apart outnumbering the days spent together - and they make it work, but on days like this he feels every meter of the distance between them. 

_morning. i’m very old now. i went grey overnight. i love you too <3 <3 _

_06:42_

  
  


Seungcheol stops by a bakery on his way to work and dutifully buys a cake to bring to the office. He would prefer to pretend like it’s any other day, but too many people know his birthdate to get away with it. At least in his office, there’s no greater shame than not providing birthday treats to one’s coworkers. And if they haven’t known before, Kwon Soonyoung makes sure they know after today, as he blasts into the office at lunchtime, loudly humming Happy Birthday and practically bullying Seungcheol out to eat with him. 

To be fair to Soonyoung, he’s a generous bully, who buys Seungcheol more meat than he could possibly eat within his allotted lunch hour. They sit at a window table in a restaurant just down the street from the office and Soonyoung piles the meat onto his plate like a mother. 

“We should go out tonight,” Soonyoung says after a while of companionable silence, “Have a meal, go for drinks, sing a little. I can get Jihoon to come too, he owes me.” Seungcheol makes an apologetic face, thinking of his standing agreement to FaceTime Jeonghan at eight. 

“I don’t think I can, I’m calling Jeonghan and I don’t want you two around to shriek in the background.”

“Please, as if we would voluntarily witness whatever shit it is that you do on your three-hour video calls,” Soonyoung scoffs, but then shoots him a softer smile, one that’s a little sad, verging on pitying. He hates it. He wants to put Soonyoung in a headlock and mess up his hair. “I just think it’d do you good to get out a bit. We haven’t done anything fun in months and it’s your birthday. I don’t think Jeonghan would prefer you to sit alone in your apartment with your phone.”

Seungcheol watches Soonyoung pick up his phone and tap something into it. He has a bad feeling about it. Not two minutes later, Seungcheol’s cell rings. _Baby_ the screen says and Seungcheol picks it up with a glare across the table. 

“Hey. Did Soonyoung text you lies just now?”

“Go out, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan wastes no time getting to his point. Seungcheol can hear kids yelling in the background, “I know we had a date, but I want you to have fun. We’ll talk tomorrow and we’ll see each other on Saturday. That’s three days away. It’s fine.”

“But it’s my birthday today, not Saturday,” Seungcheol whines and flicks off Soonyoung, who’s making a grossed out face at him, “I want to share it with you, at least a little.” Jeonghan hums in the way he does when he’s placating you more than actively agreeing with you. 

“We’re going to have so many more birthdays,” he says, voice smiling even over the distance, “They happen every year, I’m told. And I know it sucks, right now, but it won’t suck forever. We have time to get a do-over. You should make the best you can out of today, and I think that means going out with your not-digital friends. I want you to.”

It’s not that Seungcheol doesn’t get it. He appreciates that Jeonghan loves him enough to prioritize his happiness in this way. But missing him makes Seungcheol more than a little irrational. Before he can argue the point he already knows he’s lost some more, a child’s shriek carries loud and clear over the connection and distracts him.

“Are you allowed to be on your phone at work?” Seungcheol asks, imagining Jeonghan standing in a literal pit of children, one hand holding the phone to his ear, one hand on hip. 

“Eh, who are the kids gonna tattle to? I’m their god,” Jeonghan laughs and then seems to pull the phone away, as his voice grows distant and calls out, “ _Hey, Sumi! Put the glue down, honey, that’s for the paper not for the mouth!_ Yeah, I actually do have to go now. Bye, I love you! Have fun tonight!”

The call disconnects abruptly and Seungcheol looks at his phone a little dumbly, before catching Soonyoung’s knowing look. 

“I hate how good friends you and Jeonghan are,” he declares, “Jihoonie is now my only confidante.” 

“Please,” Soonyoung laughs and reaches out to refill Seungcheol’s glass of water, “Jihoon would trip you into a puddle to make sure Jeonghan’s feet didn’t get wet.”

After Seungcheol returns to work from his indulgent lunch, he mostly pretends to be useful, while fielding celebratory messages from the kids. In particular, he enjoys Vernon’s that’s just a picture of a badly iced cake that reads “Congration, you done it”. Seungkwan sends him a long letter that is half congratulations, half complaints about being stuck in Jeju and not getting to drink with them. Mingyu emails him a nice picture he took the last time they all went to the beach together - Jeonghan is smearing sunscreen on Seungcheol’s cheek and clearly cackling with laughter even in a still image while the sun haloes behind them. He sets it as his new wallpaper on both his laptop and his phone and then checks his phone again and again on his way home from work. 

He’d agreed to meet Soonyoung and Jihoon at a restaurant in Itaewon at eight, but just as he gets home from work Jihoon texts him to say that he’ll come by his apartment first so they can share a taxi because _i’m not sitting in traffic for 40 minutes on my own_. Seungcheol just sends back a thumbs up, not willing to poke the bear that is Jihoon being forced out of his nest of solitude. He eats a little, takes a shower, and tries to find an outfit that looks good without inviting attention. Jeonghan texts him an extremely close-up picture of his own kimbap dinner. 

Around half-past seven Jihoon calls him.

“Heads up, I’m almost there. Did you know there’s a feral cat colony living on your street corner?” He hangs up before Seungcheol can even answer that yes he knows and tries to pet them every day, but has been woefully unsuccessful so far. 

The doorbell rings almost immediately after. 

“You were quick,” Seungcheol observes as he opens the door. 

Jeonghan stands in front of him, grinning so widely it makes his eyes and nose crinkle, trying to hide his glee behind scrunched up shoulders and a fist over his mouth. Seungcheol feels all the air escape his lungs in an unflattering yelp. 

“Actually, it took me like three hours to drive here,” Jeonghan laughs and knocks Seungcheol back half a step as he throws himself at him. Seungcheol’s arms come up automatically to clutch him close and he presses his face against blond hair to breathe in all of Jeonghan he can get, but his brain hasn’t caught up yet. What about Jihoon’s cat colony? 

“I was texting Uji to keep up the ruse,” Jeonghan says, a little muffled against his shoulder, before pulling away to look at Seungcheol’s face, “Got you good, huh?” His eyes are practically sparkling he looks so pleased with himself.

Seungcheol doesn’t reply, because his mind has finally processed enough to realize that his boyfriend is actually, truly here. Pressed against him. Smiling at him. Fingers stroking at the nape of his neck. He cups Jeonghan’s face in both hands and kisses him - hard, a little sloppy, fully uncaring that they’re still standing at his open doorway. Jeonghan shivers against him, hand tightening in Seungcheol’s hair. 

It takes three stumbling kisses to get them behind a closed door. Seungcheol presses Jeonghan against it for a fourth, before drawing away enough to properly drink in the sight of him. He looks a little worn, rumpled from more than just being kissed. He really has spent the afternoon in a car. To come surprise Seungcheol. He’s the most beautiful thing. 

“What happened to ‘Oh, there’ll be other birthdays’, huh?” Seungcheol knows Jeonghan well enough to be sure he meant it at the time. While Jeonghan likes pulling little tricks on his loved ones, he’s actually not that great at lying to Seungcheol - it’s something that he bemoans every time they play cards. Jeonghan pouts at the question and gets a quick kiss in response because he’s _there_ and Seungcheol can kiss him, so he will. 

“I was leaving work and I hated the idea of going back to my empty apartment,” Jeonghan tells him with a shrug, “So I started driving and called Jihoonie to make sure you didn’t leave before I got here. There’ll be more birthdays and I do know that this is just one day in a long life, but,” he makes a face like he’s embarrassed and ducks closer to Seungcheol, “I’m greedy. I want all days with you. Every one of them that I can possibly get. Even if it means I have to start driving back at four in the morning tomorrow.”

Seungcheol hiccups out something that’s between a sob and a laugh. He grabs hold of him with hands shaking from residual adrenaline, rests his forehead against Jeonghan’s, and closes his eyes. He’s too overwhelmed to think of anything other than how much love is flooding through his whole body and the very plainest of truths, which he mutters against Jeonghan’s mouth.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Mm, me too,” Jeonghan says and rubs their noses together softly, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this silly little thing. i meant to leave this collection finished at the last chapter, but the urge to write happily in love jc grew too large to ignore, once again. i'd love to hear your thoughts on this. i'm also on twt  
> [@yilinges](https://twitter.com/yilinges) . 
> 
> happy early birthday, scoupsie! you're a real dreamboat.


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